bring her back to her father.
A tall order from where he stood. But not an impossible one.
Joshua rose to his feet, reducing the telescope in his hands to a fraction of its original size. The fat drops of rain began to increase and fall in earnest. The sky had been an odd shade of amber and mauve all day and there’d been talk of an electrical storm on the horizon. He’d hoped that the weather would hold steady until he got Prudence out of there.
In true black ops tradition, Joshua began turning the situation around in his mind, searching for a way to make it work for him rather than against him.
Ten minutes later, his clothes sticking to his body and his hair plastered to his head, Joshua walked up to the kidnappers’ front door and knocked urgently. All he knew was that the farmhouse, which belonged to one Owen Sutton now that his grandfather had passed on, contained anywhere from two to four people, not counting their hostage. No one knew what Owen’s source of income was, since the farm was not a working one.
Joshua had a hunch he knew.
Hidden inside his left boot was an extra clip of bullets for the gun tucked into the back of his waistband.
He knocked again when there was no response.
It was several tense seconds before the door was finally opened. An average, unfriendly looking man of medium height and build, dressed completely in black, stood squarely in the doorway. There was a streak of what looked like pale pink face powder across the cuff of his left sleeve. From carrying Prudence, Joshua surmised, unless the man had some peculiar habits.
Eyes like cold, black marbles passed over him. “Yeah?”
Joshua looked properly humbled, a hapless man without a clue as to how to remedy the situation he found himself in.
“I’m sorry to bother you, mate, but my car broke down about a mile away—” he pointed vaguely toward the road “—and I was wondering if you’d mind my using your telephone.”
The man in the doorway looked as if he would have rather shoved his face into the nearest deep puddle than to allow him access into the farmhouse. “What for?” he spat out.
Joshua shrugged helplessly. “To call a mechanic, a towing service, someone for help…” His voice trailed off.
The man eyed him for a long time. Joshua felt as if he were being X-rayed. Obviously coming to no conclusion, the man lifted his chin pugnaciously. “How come you ain’t got a cell phone?”
“Had one,” Joshua admitted forlornly, “but it fell into the loo when I took a leak in the restroom of a bar at the last town. It doesn’t work anymore.”
To Joshua’s surprise, the man laughed. But it was a nasty, unsympathetic sound. “Ain’t your day, mate, is it?” he jeered.
“That it ain’t,” Joshua agreed nervously. He projected just the right amount of uncertainty as he shifted from foot to foot and nodded toward the interior of the house. “So, can I use that phone?”
“Sorry,” the man replied, his voice indicating that he was anything but. “Never got around to hooking up a service.” And then he paused, as if debating. Joshua guessed that he was weighing whether it was less trouble to shoot him or get him to leave on his own. And then the man surprised him by looking over his shoulder into the house. “Hey, Ken,” the man shouted. “C’mere.”
A moment later, “Ken,” a lanky man whose clothes were meant for someone a size or two larger in build, shuffled to the front door. It was obvious by his manner that he didn’t like being summoned. It was also obvious that he didn’t have the courage not to come when called.
He looked sullenly at the intruder, then at the man who had called him. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you play the Good Samaritan and see if you can help this bloke with his car.” The man sounded almost genial. But his voice was flat and unreadable as he added, “Says it’s dead. Go check it out.”
The man probably asks his mother for an ID, Joshua thought.
Ken’s sullen expression deepened. “Why the hell should I?”
“Because I said so,” the man bit off. Then he looked at the man on his right. “Ken here can fix anything, can’t you, Ken?”
Ken’s answer was given under his breath and addressed to his shoes as he shuffled onto the front porch. He turned up the collar of his dark shirt against the rain, as if that would make a difference. “Where is it?” he wanted to know.
Joshua pointed north. “About a mile or so down the road.”
Ken cursed roundly, then told the man in the doorway, “I’m taking the van.”
In response, the first man pulled a set of keys out of his pants pocket.
“Take my car instead,” he instructed in a firm monotone that allowed for no argument.
Ken grudgingly accepted the keys and trudged off to the tan car parked over to the extreme right side of the front yard.
Joshua nodded his thanks at the man in the doorway and quickly followed behind Ken. In a move that would have made a magician proud, he’d already shifted his weapon to the side to avoid having it detected as he walked away.
Fifteen minutes later, Joshua was back at the house. This time, however, he didn’t knock on the front door. He approached the farmhouse from the rear. He’d left the sullen Ken bound, gagged and unconscious in the front seat of the now disabled tan vehicle. Cars didn’t go very far without their distributor caps.
One down and he wasn’t certain how many more to go, but at least there was one less gun to face. He had Ken’s tucked beside his own. The metal chafed his skin.
Above him, a lightning bolt flashed. Thunder exploded loudly not more than thirty seconds later.
Close, he thought.
The world had gone crazy. There was no other explanation for the kind of weather they were having this summer.
The storm had descended and it was interfering royally with his cell phone’s reception. He glanced at the cell’s screen. There was no signal coming in at all. Joshua frowned. His cell phone was temporarily useless and that left him dependent solely on his own ingenuity.
He’d been in worse situations.
His boots sinking into dirt now rendered to mud, Joshua gingerly tried the window. Locked, it didn’t budge. Quickly stripping off his shirt, he wrapped it around his arm, then swung it, breaking the glass with his elbow just as another crack of thunder resounded.
Despite the cover of thunder, the woman in the chair abruptly turned her head in his direction.
Joshua lost no time reaching in and unlocking the window. Raising the sash, he slipped into the dust mote laden room.
Her eyes were green, he noted. And huge as they watched and absorbed his every move.
Huge, but not frightened.
Good. The last thing he wanted was a hysterical woman he couldn’t reason with on his hands. Even if she was gorgeous.
Oh, God, now what? Pru thought, her breath backing up into her lungs. They’re coming out of the woodwork, or at least through the windows.
Her adrenaline kicked into overtime at this latest threat. She’d been working on her ropes now for God only knew how long, ever since that cretin in the baggy clothes had come in with a tray of what looked like recycled table scraps. He’d had the audacity to offer to feed her with the promise of a “special dessert if you behave yourself.”
The laugh that followed had made her skin crawl.
As he came toward her, she’d managed to twist and bump into him, knocking the tray out of his hands. It, the plate of food and the dirty glass of water had crashed to the floor. The latter had shattered.